“You sound a little like him, when you say it that way.”

Emma’s posture stiffens. “I’ve had to learn how they think.”

“They?”

“People like Simon. Serial offenders.” Emma wants the conversation to move past her own experiences. “Does it make you question whether Simon can be rehabilitated, knowing he’s been helping another killer?”

Scott seems surprised. “No. Not at all.”

“Lots of folks would say he’s going straight to hell for the things he’s done.”

“Simon’s deranged,” Scott points out as they reach the oak door. “He’s already in hell. Whether he’s punished further in some speculative afterlife is largely immaterial.” She knocks. “Hello, Pradeep. One to see Simon Gutmunsson, please.”

Pradeep, glancing through the slot, sees what Emma has brought with her. “That is not, strictly speaking, allowable.”

“I’ll allow it,” Scott says. She turns to Emma. “I’d like you to let me know what you find out from Simon. The more I know, the better equipped I am to treat him. And it’s easier for me to cooperate with the FBI if I’m kept in the loop.”

Emma weighs this up and decides that Scott has been nothing but helpful. “All right.”

“Thank you.” Scott turns away, turns back. “Oh, and Miss Lewis?”

“Yes?”

“Simon has told me that he enjoys his conversations with you,” Scott says gently. “You seem to be a good influence on him, and I can’t help but think of you as an ally in Simon’s treatment. I believe he considers you a friend. I know you’re trying to get information from him, and quickly, but it would be a shame if you damaged that budding friendship by using an adversarial approach, don’t you think?”

Emma blinks, nods. “Understood.”

The door opens and Pradeep stands aside to allow her entrance. Simon enjoys his conversations with you. He considers you a friend. Emma finds that whole concept more horrifying than she has time to contemplate right now. She has to steady her heartbeat and step inside.

The cage seems farther away today, but Emma knows this is a trick of the light. At this time of day, the sun comes through the windows at just the right angle. Every detail in the chapel room is sparkling sharp.

Simon is standing barefoot on his bed, putting up a small figure he has made out of butcher paper. When Emma gets closer, she realizes the figure is a butterfly. There are a number of paper butterflies, attached with string to the bars of the cell above the level of the suspended sheet. Simon has pierced small holes in the corners of the butcher paper, so it looks as if the butterflies are all hanging helplessly by their wings.

He’s wearing a sweater over his institutional whites: a cream-colored knit with a line of blue around the V-neck. Emma thinks it might be a tennis sweater but that’s not really her area. The sweater is moth-eaten, with ragged holes at the elbows and hem. It looks like a relic from Simon’s past life, and serves to humanize him somehow.